*GARLAS MALATAR*
NORTH OF ANVIL
CYRODIIL

The moonlight illuminated the Ayleid ruins. Paradoxically, however, this posed a different problem altogether, ruining the night-vision of the Altmer who waited in the shadows with bated breath. Aldnaro focused his eyes, trying to piece the black shadows created by the twin full moons. It was a rare enough occasion for Masser and Secunda to both be full, and the light that surrounded them was only a little dimmer than that of full day. But such light could also play tricks on your eyes: if you stared at a bush long enough, you could swear by all Eight Divines that was moving towards you, right up until you lifted your bow and put a shaft through it, only to be clouted by your superior officer for betraying your position. But even so, Aldnaro was sure that…

His right hand flickered, and a bright orb of Magelight flickered to life, cast into one of the areas ahead completely obscured by shadow. The comparatively harsh light suddenly showed several crouching forms, only some of them humanoid. The Altmer soldiers sprang to their feet from their own hiding places, their weapons raised. No war-cries split the air, and neither did any startled orders from officers. For a few tense moments, the only sound that could be heard was the creak of fully-drawn bow staves, and the low rasp of weapons being slowly drawn from sheathes. Then a slender figure at the head of the discovered party lowered her hood, and Aldnaro stared into eyes as green as his own.

"You would be Aldnaro, the High Seeker of the Aldmeri Dominion," the woman said slowly. It was as much statement as question, and the voice that addressed him radiated authority and gravitas.

"And you would be Tala Niwot, Queen and High Mother of the Vodahmin," Aldnaro replied in kind. In all the campaign (or rather, the frenzied, scrambling fighting retreat) on Summerset Isle, he had never seen the Witch-Queen in person. He had read his spies' reports and even seen the remarkably life-like sketches that had been done of her likeness, but even so, he somehow expected the woman who had shook the entire continent of Tamriel to its core to be… taller.

Her eyes were also flicking up and down his own form, no doubt making the same involuntary snap judgements that all fighters and warriors made when meeting one another. The long moments of tension stretched into minutes, with neither side moving or speaking, until at last, the Vodahmin Queen spoke:

"Is everything prepared?"

Aldnaro nodded and made a gesture with his left hand. Weapons on both sides were slowly, and almost grudgingly, lowered.

"Tiberius has almost stripped the coastal garrisons of loyal troops and has allowed the Dominion to make up the difference in numbers," Aldnaro continued. "It would appear that the bulk of his forces are preparing to invade Skyrim in a few weeks' time."

Tala Niwot made no reply but made a gesture of her own with a free hand. A Minotaur grunted some of its own unintelligible dialect, but within moments, a lit torch was in its hand, and it moved to a nearby bronze brazier in the ruins. Hefting the torch, the oil within the signal blazed to life, causing those nearby to wince as their eyes made the harsh adjustments to this new light source.

Out on the ocean, almost impossibly distant, more signal lights lit in answer: a long row of barely-discernable dots. Likewise, down the coastline, distant fires could be seen sprouting to life, all the way down toward the nearby city of Anvil.

"My daughter?" Aldnaro forced his voice to be even, stripping it of the raw emotions that lay just beneath the surface.

Tala made a gesture, and a young woman was pushed forward, bounded at the wrists and gagged. The centaur holding the rope tied around her neck made two swift motions, and the bonds parted beneath the sharp, curved blade.

"FATHER?"

Aldnaro nodded, feeling tears well up despite his best efforts.

"Eriserane."

His voice broke, and the young woman bounded forward, and embraced him.

"FATHER!"

The rest of the Altmer contingent consciously averted their eyes from the tearful reunion, giving their High Seeker as much privacy as the moment allowed. After a moment however, the slender figure of the Vodahmin ruler took a step forward.

"The rest of the captives will be delivered when the Imperial City Falls." The voice was calm and even, devoid of any mockery or gloating tones. "You can question your daughter, and she'll tell you that they're all still alive… and undefiled."

With an effort of will, Aldnaro gathered himself, and stood to his feet. However, it was his second, Loriann, who spoke up next.

"How do we know you'll keep your word?" There was understandable incredulity and anger in the tone, and Aldnaro made a slight hissing noise through his teeth to silence any further questions or (more likely) insults from escaping the younger Altmer.

"You don't," Queen Tala shrugged, and there was a malevolence now in the grin on her face. "But you do know that if you do NOT do what I say, then even if you succeeded in killing all of my army that is landing on the shores of Cyrodiil today, you'd never make it to Markarth before all of the hostages died very slow, very painful deaths."

There was a stir on both sides: of shocked horror among the High Elves, and one of mirthful amusement among the Covenant.

"And believe me," a red-eyed woman grinned beside her queen, "vampires can be incredibly creative when it comes to such work."

Aldnaro forced his hand away from his sword-hilt and clenched it into a fist instead.

"Are there any changes to the plan, then?" he asked, almost between gritted teeth.

Tala shook her head.

"Have your troops in Valenwood move against Kvatch and Skingrad. I don't need you to take those cities, I just need the soldiers there to be tied down in a siege. My army will be marching directly for the Imperial City."

Aldnaro nodded, grateful for the opportunity to turn his mind to military maneuvers and tactics.

"Even if you take the Imperial City," he stated slowly, trying again to keep emotion from his tone, "that won't make you Empress. And there's still the Imperial garrisons of Chorrel and Bruma in your way, to say nothing of Tiberius' main army."

"Of course, it won't make me Empress," nodded Tala, shocking the High Seeker at the frank admission. "But it will give me control of the Imperial City, the hub nearly all travel and trade of Tamriel. Cooperate, and you'll have Valenwood re-secured, and possibly more Imperial territory to add to your recovering Dominion."

There was a pause, and then a distinct chill entered the hitherto-neutral tone of the Vodahmin High Mother.

"Or you can betray us and explain to the rest of your nobles why your daughter was returned unharmed, only to have you condemn the rest to death."

Aldnaro winced involuntarily. That would be the death blow to whatever respect and authority he still held within the Dominion. Technically speaking, The High Seeker was still answerable to the Thalmor Council. The fact that most of that council was dead had made that by-law moot for the most part, and he had ruled these past years on an "Emergency" and "Provisional" basis. Most of them were maddeningly (and understandably) furious at having to work alongside the same people who had ravaged their lands and humbled their armies. But each of them also had relatives and loved ones in the slave-pits of the Vodahmin and were desperate to get them back. Betraying their long-time enemies of Cyrodiil seemed like a small enough price to pay for their safe return.

The High Seeker choked back the words that were on his tongue and opted instead for a wordless nod before signaling to his men. Taking his daughter under his arm, he gently guided her back to the boats that had brought them there. As they neared the water's edge, he saw more large fires in the distance.

Anvil burns.

The Dominion troops within had been tasked with securing the coastal forts and dropping the great chain stretched across the harbor. If they had been successful, then the Vodahmin navy would be sailing into the great city now, with war, fire, and bloodshed in their hands.

"Auri-El, Julianos, Stendarr, guide my hands," the High Seeker prayed silently. "If the Witch-Queen keeps her word, then I have delivered a significant portion of my people from slavery and chains."

And if she does not, some small part of his brain echoed after the spoken words, then I have delivered Tamriel into the hands of a mad-woman, leading an army of predators that would devour the world.

*ILIATH TEMPLE*
NEAR KRAGENMOOR
MORROWIND

"We are drawing near to the city now," Sarai Gellarus, Arch-Mage of Winterhold, pulled her cloak closer around her. "We should have been encountering Argonian scouts by now."

"They have no need for scouts. Tullius commented dryly. "Their damned Hist trees read the land and warn them of imminent danger. Believe me, ma'am: they already know we're here, and exactly how many of us there are."

"Which is why I have no intention of a surprise attack," Llew grinned mirthlessly. "Kelan-Tel knows I'm here, and he'll be coming to meet me."

"He wants to deal with us away from the main city," nodded Jarl Kraldar. "If he allows us to get to close, then he risks the city rushing out in a sortie and getting hit from both sides at once."

"The flat plains between here and the city are our best bet," Llewellyn stated, making a chopping motion with his hand. "They'll try to outflank us first, and then when that fails, they'll come at our center."

"They'll have most of their Guar cavalry facing us," Tullius stated matter-of-factly. "And Kagouti."

"Deploy the palisades and array your legionnaires in solid line," Llewelleyn nodded. "Kraldar, have your mounted troops stand in reserve. When they break against our line, you're to cut them off from regaining their siege works."

The jarl nodded, and with a grunt, urged his war-bear forward. Those behind were mounted on the sturdy Great Elks of their homeland and wheeled to follow him. Tullius made a salute before urging his own mount forward to take command of the legionnaires deploying from column of march into line of battle.

"Lewis," Sarah said quietly, taking advantage of their relative privacy. "The Argonians have won every war they've embarked upon, since Tiber Septim's time. These are the warriors that even threw back Mehrunes Dagon's hordes and invaded Oblivion."

Lewis Heron nodded, and then rolled his shoulders back, feeling the Dragonbone armor settle on his shoulders. Then he opened his eyes, and was Llewellyn Dragonborn once more.

"And we'll use that confidence against them, my love."

He dismounted his horse and drew both curved Akaviri blades at this belt. Then he lifted his head and Shouted to the Heavens:

"OOH- DAH VIING!"

ARGONIAN CAMP
KRAGENMOOR
MORROWIND

"Why do they wait?"

The young Argonian prince received a clout to the back of his head in response to this question. Kelan-Tel hissed as he leaned forward on the table. Guthra-Mor was one of the Princely Brood, and if he was going to rule alongside, or perhaps over, his many brothers and sisters, he would have to learn statecraft and military tactics.

"Because he isn't a fool," he replied, tapping the tiny icon of a dragon on the table. "He comes to us, he must fight us on our chosen ground. This way, he chooses the battlefield."

The Argonian king turned towards a robed and shrouded figure.

"Reeh-Julan?"

The impossibly-ancient shaman had a hand buried deep in the earth, panting heavily. With his free hand, he began to sketch lines in the ash-covered sand. When the words came, it was like great branches straining in a gale:

"Feet… here."

The thin finger moved again, and military formation took shape, breathed into life by the Hist, connected directly to the earth and seeing all:

"Hooves… here."

Then there was a sigh, and his acolytes moved to catch him before the ancient one could hit the ground.

"Bear him to my tent," Kelan-Tel ordered. "See that he is given every possible care."

The Argonian generals and commanders rumbled approvingly as they beheld the formation the shaman had sketched into the ground, as if seeing the army laid out from the eyes of a hawk. Kelan-Tel looked over the formation with a trained veteran's eye, and smiled.

"He's overconfident, our Dragonborn."

Several of the younger warriors gave their ruler a confused look.

"See?" Kelan-Tel leaned forward, using his sword to point out the various troop positions. "He has most of his troops on the flanks, here, and here. He's expecting us to make flanking attacks, or to work his way around, as we did in Elsweyr and the wars against the Dominion. But the center of his line, here, is a wedge shape protruding from the rest of his formation. And there he is weakest. He's not expecting a head-on attack."

"Because that's never been our people's style," the younger princeling who had spoken before said quietly.

"Exactly," nodded Kelan-Tel. "He's no fool. But I'm afraid this time he may have been a little too clever. En-ja?"

A female Argonian stiffened in the corner, saluting her sovereign.

"Move the shellbacks into line, and engage the flanks, exactly as he expects."

Kelan-Tel pointed a sword at a tall, swarthy, gold-scaled Argonian.

"Deethmena, you will move our mounted forces here, into the center. We'll give Llewellyn Dragonborn some time to reinforce his flanks, and then…"

Kelan-Tel stabs the curved blade into the dirt, drawing a line down the middle of the sand drawing.

"We sever his line in two, and drive the two halves apart, throwing everything we have into the gap."

*SOME TIME LATER*

Kelan-Tel stood astride his Kagouti mount, which was as black as his own armor. From his vantage point here on the heights, he could see the entire battlefield stretch out in front of him. If he looked over his shoulder down the opposite slope, he could see the besieged city of Kragenmoor, and the Argonian siege works around it.

"So close, poor lambs," he mused quietly, "and yet, so far away."

His flanking attacks had done precisely what he had hoped: slowly, almost imperceptibly, columns of legionnaires could be seen marching from their positions in the center towards the right or left flank, as needed. Meanwhile, the center continued their slow, uncontested advance, drawing them ahead of their flanks in a distinctive wedge formation.

"Too far, fools," he cackled, closing a fist in triumph before giving the signal.

From their hiding place in the ravine in front of him, thousands of mounted Argonians spurred their two-legged mounts forward in a rushing, pell-mell gallop. He saw the Nordic line hesitate, but there was far too little time to maneuver, to respond…

What the Hist?

The front line of the Legion directly opposite the cavalry charge was throwing themselves flat, hugging the ground as if prostrating themselves before the oncoming horde. Behind them, he recognized the distinctive armor of the Blades, Llewellyn Dragonborn's personal guard, lift… where those spears? He thought incredulously. No, they're far too short to be of any…

Flashes of fire burst from the tiny weapons, and then a roar like thunder, impossibly loud, rippled across the battlefield. Kelan-Tel stood in his saddle, horrified as he saw the Argonian cavalry charge transform into an indomitable horde into a huddled confused mass. Those in the front ranks who survived drew up sharply, turning their heads to try and find what spell or weapon had felled their comrades on either side of them. Wounded beasts screamed and flailed wildly, throwing off their riders and colliding with comrades, all of which threw the charge into further confusion.

"What sorcery is this?" Kelan-Tel heard a hoarse voice whisper, before realizing that it was his own.

As if in horrible mockery, the Blades took two strides forward, and then the first rank knelt, revealing a second row behind them leveling identical mystery weapons.

BOOM.

The noise was loud to Kelan-Tel, so he could only imagine the deafening roar that it must be down there on the plain. Another mass of Argonian riders and mounts fell, and then suddenly the whole force surged forward again. It was the only logical choice: they had to close the gap between them and these cursed… whatever they were that were slaughtering their comrades left and right. If they could get in close to the enemy infantry…

The legionnaires stood to their feet again, obscuring the Blades, and a shrill trumpet sounded. The legionnaires bent forward and hurled their pila into the mass of mounted Argonians. Had the soldiers from Black Marsh they still been in ordered ranks, it wouldn't have mattered, as the ranks behind would have simply closed in around the fallen. But with the ordered ranks thrown into one roiling, churning mass of mounts and riders, they couldn't possibly miss.

Then the legionnaires were throwing themselves flat again, and the Nords were leveling their mysterious, terrible weapons again. Again with the flashes of fire, and again with the roar of a thunderstorm, and even more of the mounted cavalry fell, never to rise again.

Llewellyn Dragonborn had tricked him.

The deceptive overconfidence had all been a ploy; a chance to humble the proud Nord that he couldn't resist. And now he saw the center ranks of the Nords part yet again, and their own cavalry, led by… was that a man riding a bear, charged forward, hurling themselves into the confused and disordered remnants of his once-mighty cavalry.

"Send in the reserve!" Kelan-Tel barked. "Now!"

But even as the order left his lips, he felt a sinking feeling in his soul. He had to hold back that attack, before his own forces were split in two, as he had intended for his attackers.

"Send word to the siege camp," he continued, "Tell the officer there to prepare for…"

A roar cut off the rest of his sentence. It was not the loudness of the roar that sent alarm and fear into the faces around him, but rather its origin: directly above them. Whirling in the saddle, Kelan-Tel saw a winged shape come through the clouds, making directly at him.

"SCATTER!"

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The panicked order came seconds before a pillar of flame descended upon the command post, and in its wake, it left burning men, animals, and equipment. His own Kagouti flailed not two yards distant, the saddle and harness he had been sitting on only moments earlier now scorching lines into the helpless creature's flesh. His swords were in his hands, and his gaze darted left, then right, the left again in search of the…

Dragon.

It had been a dragon.

His eyes found it only a second later, floating not ten yards above the ground. A figure in armor that seemed to blend into the creature's own hide sat astride it, and for one fateful moment, the kings of Black Marsh and Skyrim looked directly at one another. And then the Nordic High King spoke in guttural harsh tones, and the dragon beneath him veered to the right, towards….

Towards the siege camp, Kelan-Tel realized. But from here, there was nothing he could do but watch as the creature swooped time and time again upon the Argonian siege encampment. All the ballista and catapults that might have harmed the creature were pointed the wrong way, and crowded together in their narrow trenches, the Argonian soldiers had no escape from the fiery death that descended upon them.

"My king?"

The words seemed to come from far away, or through several fathoms of water.

"My KING?"

Kelan-Tel turned slowly to see several of his sons and daughters around him, all eyes turned towards him.

"What are your orders?"

As if in answer, another roaring boom sounded, and Kelan-Tel felt his heart sink as he saw the once-splendid Argonian charge dissolve into a mass of blood and beast.

"Retreat," Kelan-Tel stated numbly. "Retreat towards the river, he repeated. "Full retreat southward. Priority: survival."

The Argonian trumpeters seemed to pause at the order, as if remembered how to sound the unfamiliar call, and then lifted the massive signal horns to their lips to signal the general retreat.

Author's Note:

"…Then should the warlike Llewellyn, like himself, Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire Crouch for employment."

As always, your thoughts/ suggestions/ comments/ constructive criticisms are always welcome in the reviews and my PMs, even if it's just "Good job," or "I liked it." You are, each of you, awesome!

ROCK ON, my friends!

- Tusken 1602

Reviewer Responses:

DarkFireCat5241999 – I'm honestly not a great fan of MMORPG, but the few times I've played ESO at friends' houses, I haven't been mad about it. That's about the extent of my opinion on ESO.

Bloodwolf432 – If you want to see the gods laugh, tell them your plans…

Blaise Welshman – I am always susceptible to reviewers' suggestions; I don't claim to have an angle on all good writing!

Rabastan, GalacticHalfling – I think of Nelkir visiting the Vodahmin as more of a cultural exchange, more than anything else. His father certainly knows he's there, so he hasn't run away, by any means.

griezz – Some large part of me thinks that M'aiq would approve of Tala Niwot.

hopelessromantic34 – Thus far, only muskets for the Blades…

Spartanzerg75 – Very good points, my friend.

tylermech66 – I have tried to use the legionnaires as those supporting blocks, but this battle certainly represents a turning point for warfare in Tamriel. After all, you can only use something for the "first time" once…

Guest – Sybille Stentor is still the vampiric court mage at Solitude.

Leaf Ninja 91, badkidoh, Dumnezeu, jdboss1 – Thanks, my friends! I always appreciate the extra effort to leave a review! Means an awful lot to me!